Book

You know sometimes you just dont have the mood to do work.You can force yourself by putting the materials right smack in your face and think about all the shit stuff that could happen to you later if you dont start it now. But you just cant do it. Theoretically, you can but practically speaking you can't.
This kind of things you can only do it if you feel like it.

Just finished reading the book "The Catcher in the Rye" and it's pretty marvellous i'd say. I think it has a simple story and boring to a certain extent. But the writer is good. He's smooth and you don't get smooth writers that often. Some writers just jumps from topic to topic like they're trying to write an exposition type of essay and it's not that smooth. I mean, they are pretty good writers too but the cohesion of the whole book of such writers are carried by the weight of having to present a generic plot or something. They wana tell you so many stuff that it's just...just different and rocky.
No. Smooth writers are such that they write almost to a point of blabberism. They can tell you all the nonsense in the world and yet you dont really realise that's it's all quite a blabber. They're so suave and they write like they're sitting right there infront of you in that velvet couch, telling you all that stuff in the book. And it's so smooth you don't even realise where's the start and where's the end. No commercial breaks either. You just glide along.
The good thing about this book is, it's not too thick.
I mean you wouldn't wana read a thousand million pages of someone's blabber would you? This kind of things, you'd get sick of it after awhile if you don't quite get the point why the hell the writer started on this book in the first place. I mean out of the smoothies, this guy has some sense!

Reading this book reminds me alot about Smelly.He was the one who recommended this book while we were browsing through Borders the other time. I mean that was so long ago but i could remember all the details that happened in that point of time. I knew i had always cast an apprehensive interest on that book for quite some time but i haven't got the nerve to buy it. Cos it's pretty ex for that size of book if you think about it! haha..I mean i can sound really stupid here but it's really what it is. what if it turns out like some crap book and its so small!! Ok that's a very stupid kind of thinking but i dont give a damn actually. that's just how i thought and felt those times before i bought the book. But Smelly picked the book and said "this' a good one"...."made me cry". Hmmm...yeah. That's a good advertisement gimmick but it sure hell worked on me.
Now i sorta know why he said that. The book's not too bad in its own sense, but i think it's bloody brilliant cos of Smelly. Smelly made that book good in alot of ways. And it's a pity I dont really talk to him now. He's such a strange boy.
But i sure kinda miss Smelly.

I can see sad people

I have a friend who is all holy moly and nice sweet tweety smiles she has. But when i read the stuff she wrote, it's all just sad dung. No no, i'm not trying to make a claim here that she's being fake or putting on this facade, but i'm just wondering if she realises how seriously confused she is. It's not healthy the way things go. If this way continues, she'll break down more times than she think she might.
When i read her stuff, i felt like laughing.Not the happy kind of laughter but the i-know-what-you're-trying-to-get-at laughter. I'm sick of all this depressive people and how they try to compete with each other at being the most depressive person alive without showing you that they are trying. They wana tell you they are coping well and yet they are enticing you, begging you, to pry open their little wantons to see their rotten insides. Strange people we are sometimes.

My ears used to get pricked when someone says things like "the happiest people are sometimes the saddest people" (OK i admit, i used to say that), but now all this shit just sickens me. They're all just phonies acting strong in their weakness; showing that the shit they've been through or the shit they're going through is the worst shit ever.
I'm serious. Even if they don't tell you explicitly, you can see it in their eyes. And they all have this I've-seen-the-world kind of look and they'll tell you they've seen all kinds of people to know who's bad and who's good.
Bullshit. I'd say to hell with that. You can't possibly expect me to accept that kind of old folk crap, do you?
I mean, You've gotta be older than Jesus to know that many people, won't you?

It takes one to know other, I guess. But i'm not saying i'm proud of it now. I used to have this weird sense of pride in this dung that i have and if you wana know what ironic really means, THAT's ironic. It's like you don't wana have it and you hate to the core, and yet you sorta savour it? And feel proud about it because nobody else would probably have it or know what it's like to have it? It's actually quite sadistic. Or sadomasochistic. Ha.Ha.
And it's really quite funny if you think about it.
Every depressive dung is actually a replica of the other. They're quite like carbon copies; clones of each other. And they all dont realise it because they're so into themselves? I mean, they're all just depressive. That's just it. They can have a different culture, a different background, a different context, but the stories all the same. Line them up in a row and you get a spectrum of sad people, differing in degrees. Some just have the guts to do wrist-slitting activities; some do drugs; some lie; some just lie around sleeping all day...bla bla bla. They're all just different ways of expressing your sickness. Mere symptoms. And at the end of the day, they're all jus narcissisticly depressed.

Okay Okay. I probably sound like i'm older than Jesus, so I oughta apologise and remember to be humble.
What i'm just trying to say with all that nonsense up there is that i'm simply sick of people who try to sound like they're the most depressive person alive.I'm sick of their silent screams of desire to pour out and yet their words dont carry nuts about their sorrows. The sorrowful jargon just becomes very disjointed and very hard to digest. They try too hard to sound sad and in the end, it backfired. Some people are quite good, but it gets horrible when they know they are good. They become TOO good and end up being phony.
Hmmm...so what now?
I guess, what i can offer, like an advice or something, is that when you're sad, just say you're sad. Use the simple words first. Identify them before you progress to the figuratives like metaphors and flamboyant vocabulary. And essentially too, you've got to admit to yourself that you're sad! If you try to hide and spill at the same time, you'll look silly and phony. And if you keep on doing that, you'll realise at the end of it all, that's it's utterly tiring to strip down those walls you built around yourseld. Those glass walls. So thick and cold. Heard of the Snow Queen story before? Yeah, something like that. And the final of this end is that you'd be so tired and shocked after tearing down those walls. Cos your nakedness will be exposed and vulnerbility screams at you like a banshee. You won't know what to think; you won't know what to feel. Your mind body heart and soul becomes paralyzed with fear and you can't even judge if that's good or bad.
Hmmm....But then again. Maybe in its sickeningly ironic sense, it's good.
Because it's useful. Because then, God can swoop you up into His arms again?
I don't know. Maybe you think about it. *wink*

The Confessions by Saint Augustine

Is there a place within me into which my God would come? How should the God who made heaven and earth come into me? Is there any room in me for you, Lord, my God? Even heaven and earth, which you have made and in which you have made me—can even they contain you? Since nothing that exists would exist without you, does it follow that whatever exists does in some way contain you? But if this is so, how can I, who am one of these existing things, ask you to come into me, when I would not exist at all unless you were already in me? Not yet am I in hell, after all, but even if I were, you would be there too; for if I descend to the underworld, you are there. No, my God, I would not exist, I would not be at all, were you not in me. Or should I say, rather, that I should not exist if I were not in you, from whom are all things, through whom are all things, in whom are all things? Yes, Lord, that is the truth, that is indeed the truth. To what place can I invite you, then, since I am in you? Or where would you come from, in order to come into me? To what place outside heaven and earth could I travel, so that my God could come to me there, the God who said, "I fill heaven and earth"?

So then, if you fill heaven and earth, does that mean that heaven and earth contain you? Or, since clearly they cannot hold you, is there something of you left over when you have filled them? Once heaven and earth are full, where would that remaining part of you overflow? Or perhaps you have no need to be contained by anything, but rather contain everything yourself, because whatever you fill you contain, even as you fill it? The vessels which are full of you do not lend you stability, because even if they break you will not be spilt. And when you pour yourself out over us, you do not lie there spilt but raise us up; you are not scattered, but gather us together. Yet all those things which you fill, you fill with the whole of yourself. Should we suppose, then, that because all things are incapable of containing the whole of you, they hold only a part of you, and all of them the same part? Or does each thing hold a different part, greater things larger parts, and lesser things smaller parts? Does it even make sense to speak of larger or smaller parts of you? Are you not everywhere in your whole being, while there is nothing whatever that can hold you entirely?

--The Confessions by Saint Augustine—

I'll Be

Trapped within my own procrastinated folly, I sat alone in this cold fotress promising myself a song or two before I get down with my darned meaningless essay-- an obligated requirement, needless to say. From where I am seated, the reflective panes of the huge glass windows gave me the sparkle of peace as the sunset seeps through it with utmost beauty. The fotress of books carry a little chill but I loved the way it was--cold enough for me to feel snugged up in my little jackie of red magenta.
I am inclined to think of what has passed.
Finally, i felt like i'm forced out of this doom. Jettisoned from further sorrows. Cured from thy human foolishness?
It's the end. I have declared its end.
And now's the time to lick thy wounds clean.
Scratches, bruises, they mean nothing big the way things are known now.
For God is in the middle of everything, and knowing others' middle is having their God in me. Just as God is already in me.
God is everywhere. He formed everything, forms everything and i tend to forget this living faith.
I'm really happy. Really really happy. *smiles!*
"Forgive us, as we forgive those who sin against us"

Heard this song sung personally by the drummer at Timbre. Ooohh...and i can never forget that image of him!
Stiff and out of place but that's what made it quite nice...haha..yes...the imperfections.

Song: I'll Be (By Edwain McCain)

The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains thrust toward the sky
Never revealing their depth
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above

Chorus:
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be your love suicide
and I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life

Rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed
You're my survival, you're my living proof
My love is alive not dead
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache, that hang from above

I've been dropped out, burned up, fought my way back from the dead
Tuned in, turned on, Remembered the things that you said